Who You Are
by planetofmars
Summary: "Your armor won't protect you from everything," Steve warns, reminding Tony just how vulnerable he is underneath it all


**Title:** Who You Are

**Author: **Keelover/Planetofmars

**Pairing: **Steve/Tony.

**Summary:** Prompt fill for the **avengers_tables**: Armor.

**Word Count:****1891.**

**Universe:** 616.

**Rating:** PG-13.

**Warnings: **None. 

"Your armor won't protect you from everything," Steve warns, reminding Tony just how vulnerable he is underneath it all.

Tony stands his ground, mouth in a firm line; no smart comment to be had. Steve's staring him down, circling to his left; guarded. Tony's unsure as to whether or not Steve's aiming to actually hurt him, but nothing he's said so far is untrue. Steve's making sure Tony knows how weak he is without his armor; breaking him down to rebuild him, or at least he's trying to. Tony's not so sure whether it's working or not at the moment, but he figures he'll know soon enough.

"What are you going to do now that you're unguarded?" Steve inquires, and what a loaded question. Steve may be able to see right through him, through all his bullshit, but Tony can see, too.

Tony's left hand is up by his chin, right hand tucked by his side—he knows better. Steve's not only bringing up Tony's physical short comings, but his emotional downfalls as well. Steve moves fast; half halfheartedly as his foot work is sloppy, and Tony's able to keep his balance. Steve's got him cornered, but Tony refuses to panic. Steve's asking for some sort of permission, but it's all very metaphorical, and Tony's having a hard time trying to keep up.

Tony shoots for Steve's leg, but Steve wizards his way on top, weight to his advantage. Steve's got him in a arm bar, but he knows Tony won't tap or cry out; he'd rather have his arm snapped in half. "You haven't answered my question, Tony," he says, mouth to Tony's ear as he adds pressure.

Tony hisses, pain palpable. Steve loosens his hold, but only slightly. Tony hates how absolutely weak he is, but more then that, he hates that Steve knows it. Sometimes Tony wishes he could go back to being two distinct entities; Iron Man and Tony Stark. He can't, though, and Steve knows this, uses it against him, tries to make him stronger because he cares.

Steve stands them up, hands on either side of Tony's shoulders, eyes peering deeply into his own. "Tony, please," he starts, but Tony cuts him off with a bruising kiss. Steve might be a tactile genius, but Tony is well versed in the art of distracting, and uses it to gain some leverage.

"Steve, I can't," he starts, but refrains. Steve's cheeks are flushed pink, and his eyes are unreadable.

Tony trails his hand up the side of Steve's neck, caressing the smooth skin there. Tony's nothing but squandered money without that armor, and he won't say otherwise, even though that's exactly what Steve wants. Tony kisses Steve again, gently this time. Tony has only ever kissed Steve like this, exposing a softer side of himself. Pepper had come close, but that was another story for a different time.

"I know what you think," Tony says, "but it's not true."

Steve believes that Tony has some sort of death wish, and maybe, deep down, he's right. Tony shrugs, he doesn't want to have this conversation, and sex seems the appropriate way to derail. Tony slips his fingers under the elastic band of Steve's gym shorts.

Steve's grip is firm on his bicep, pushing him back, and Tony merely rolls his eyes. "Stop trying to get around the subject, Tony," he says sternly, and Tony loses his well practiced cool.

"I'm weak, Steve. Without my armor, I'm nothing. I know you think otherwise, but it's all I've got," he lets out, exposing himself; raw and completely naked.

Steve pulls him close, face grim and maybe a little hopeful. "Tony Stark is just as important as Iron Man," he states, and he leaves no room to argue. Tony hates that.

Steve's vice-like grip loosens, and Tony is free to do as he pleases, and so he turns on his heels and leaves. Steve finds him two hours later brooding in his workshop, absentmindedly pulling communicator prototypes apart and putting them back together again; it was a peculiar sight. Tony looks at him, facade waning in and out. What he had said weighed heavily on both of their minds, but for different reasons. "What I said, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for," he apologizes.

"We both know that's not true," Tony says, voice clipped and short. Steve swipes his tongue across his teeth, kneeling in front of Tony, he places his head upon his lap; it takes a strong man to fall down to his knees in front of another, and Steve nearly doesn't.

"What are you doing?" Tony questions, sitting higher in his chair. Steve reaches for his hand, and Tony takes it, shaking and nervous. "Steve?"

"I can't," Steve starts then stops, taking a deep breath before squeezing Tony's hand. "I can't lose you," he says, blue eyes peering up into Tony's. "I don't know what I would do without you," he admits, kissing the rough skin of Tony's hand.

"Steve," Tony starts, trying to remove himself from the situation entirely. Steve pulls him down, moving up his body until they're face to face. "Steve, I can't."

"I know it may not matter to you, Tony, but it matters to me," he says, and it's not pleading, and it's not love, but it's most certainly need, and Tony can do that. Tony can understand need, feels it every waking moment of his life.

"Yeah, okay," Tony says, tracing his bottom lip with his tongue. "Okay."

Steve appears appeased by his response, standing to his feet before moving away entirely. Steve leaves him alone in his work shop to think back on things and make a decisive answer. Tony stares absentmindedly at his reflection in the polished features of one of his many armors, sees the marks of time, the soft lines of hard work and gray temples of self provoking thoughts. Tony stares into his own eyes, a faded blue of one too many mistakes. Tony's stomach aches and knots at his many imperfections, the reasons why he isn't a true hero.

Tony sighs, clutching one of his old helmet prototypes, memories of better times surfacing. If he were completely honest with himself, Tony knows that his best accomplishment, his greatest contribute to all of humankind, was finding him frozen there in the ice. From the moment he woke up, Steve was all this world really needed. Steve believed in people almost as much as they believed in him, he looked up to them almost as much as they looked up to him. Tony couldn't say the same, he wouldn't even if he could.

Tony sits once more, self loathing coming far too easily. Tony Stark, son of Howard and Maria Stark. Tony clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he was not his father. True, he came from his money, he carried on his name, but his father had never sketched anything like what he had brought to life. Tony's heart was bad, would always be, he imagined, but he did relatively well with what he has, or so he thinks. Tony's mind was sharp, his tongue much more sharp, and okay, he wasn't completely useless, but he wasn't top of the line either.

Steve is in the midst of brushing his teeth when Tony finds him, reflection looking haggard after too many nights spent without sleep. Tony has his hands on his hips, feet spread apart like he's come to some monumental conclusion. Steve turns around, feels like this must be something important when Tony says quite sternly, "I'm okay."

Steve's eyebrow quirks. "You're okay, what?" he questions, toothpaste foaming at the side of his mouth.

"Me, I'm okay. I'm not the greatest, right? But I'm not trying to take over the world, or hurt people, or anything like that...deliberately," Tony says, jaw set as though he expects Steve to argue differently.

Steve smiles, nothing bright or fancy, just something genuine. "It's a start."

"A start," Tony questions, eyebrows furrowed as he sounds offended, "it's all I've got!"

Steve smooths his hands along Tony's face, taking in his heavy eyes that no doubt match his heavy heart. "It's a start, okay? It's better then where you were at, but maybe tomorrow you'll see something about yourself that's even better," he says, placing a soft kiss to Tony's cheek before mumbling something about his stubble. Tony moves to protest, finding it difficult with Steve's hands removing his raunchy tank top. Tony tries again, Steve pushing him back towards the shower, aiming to remove Tony's sweatpants. Before Tony realizes it, he's in the shower, hot water streaming down along tense muscle.

The hot water feels good, revitalizing. Tony lazily dries himself off with a towel, forgoing clothes as he moves towards his bed. Steve's already fast asleep, arm draped over his face, warm skin revealed till mid torso where golden tan meets matte red, and it's quite the sight, Tony amends. Tony crawls into bed, fingers dancing along the contours of Steve's bicep, reaching around a solid waist where he rests his hands. "I hate you," he whispers, breath tickling Steve's ear.

Tony watches as Steve smiles, eyes still shut as he moves to lock their hands together. When his eyes open, revealing entrancing blue eyes, Tony is still dumbfounded by the color after all this time. The posters he had as a child, black and white photographs he had seen, paintings on posters he had collected, none of them had the right sort of blue. Azure, he knows, a blue entirely its own. "I hate you, too," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to his lips that held potentially lethal power.

"At least we're on the same page," Tony quips, biting the lobe of Steve's ear before placing a soothing kiss to the nape of his neck. With only his armor, Tony would never be able to touch Steve like this, to feel him, to feed that _need_ that pounded beneath the center of his ever aching chest. With only his armor, Tony would never be able to kiss Steve like he kisses him now, be gentle with him, sleep beside him. Tony's armor couldn't protect him from getting hurt emotionally, he understood, had given it plenty of thought. Tony's armor couldn't prevent him from loving someone, or wanting to be loved in return.

Tony's armor couldn't quell the need to physically touch someone like he did now with Steve wrapped securely in his arms, mouth slightly open as he rests. Tony would stick with the workouts and the training sessions, he would at least try to show Steve he cared about himself. If that's all the other man really wanted from him, he could make it happen, little by little. Tony wasn't a hero outside of his armor, he was a completely different man with a completely different outlook on life, with a reason to want to live. Tony kisses Steve's shoulder blade, studying the scars his own body had acquired over the years, and maybe they weren't something to be ashamed of; weren't failures. Maybe, just maybe, they were reminders to keep alive.


End file.
